


A Cap of Lead Across the Sky

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-30
Updated: 2008-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary had never been afraid of storms, but this one was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cap of Lead Across the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Written for the Women of Supernatural Gen Flashfic Challenge at [](http://spn-xx.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_xx**](http://spn-xx.livejournal.com/) , prompt #3: _"Glee! The great storm is over!"_ Many thanks to [](http://iamstealthyone.livejournal.com/profile)[**iamstealthyone**](http://iamstealthyone.livejournal.com/) for the excellent beta. Title, like the prompt, by Emily Dickinson.

It was the latest in a string of autumn storms, each with its own unique qualities: some brought more wind, some more rain, some lasted twenty minutes and some raged an entire afternoon, leaving the yard scattered with dead leaves and broken branches.

This one announced its arrival in slow, looming stages. While Mary washed the breakfast dishes, the watery pale sun dimmed and the sky turned to gray. Dean pushed his toy truck around on the kitchen floor while Sammy, lying in his bassinette on the table, tried to grab his own toes and made gleeful noises. As the light in the kitchen altered, Dean stopped pushing his truck and looked up, tilting his head to one side, body going still.

"Looks like we're in for it again, kiddo," Mary said, wiping her hands dry on a towel.

"Batten down the hatches, Mommy," Dean said, and went back to his cars.

She laughed. "Good idea. Let's go batten down the hatches."

When the first load of laundry came out of the dryer, the sky had gone to a darker gray and the wind was rising, lashing the trees in the yard. The swings John had set up in August whipped back and forth; standing on the back steps with Sammy in her arms, Mary listened to the steady creak of their chains. Meanwhile, Dean ran on the grass, hair going every which way as he careened into the wind. The storms made him watchful and excited, as if they were large animals to marvel over, an elephant or a zebra or an emu.

This one seemed like a tiger to her, a slow creep through the grasses, preparing for a pounce. It felt different, making her skin prickle, and she held Sammy closer, inhaling the scent of baby powder and baby smell and something that was particularly Sammy.

"Come inside, Dean," she called, and he veered in his mad rush around the yard.

He circled back towards her as he always did, despite the gleam of mischief in his eyes, his inclination towards climbing onto, climbing into, climbing under, or running towards things that might or might not be good for a little boy.

"It is going to rain?" He stopped in front of her, a little out of breath, eager.

"Soon, honey."

By the time the laundry was folded -- Dean helped, which meant Mary folded several of John's shirts and jeans twice -- the sky through the windows had turned an odd bottle green, muddy as old glass.

Dean ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and stared out the window, watching with her as the dark mass of the storm consumed the green hue and devoured the sky.

The first big drops of rain splattered the window without warning. Standing with her arms folded, her hip leaning against the sink, Mary jumped.

She put Sammy down for a nap, distracted Dean with his toy cars so she could pay a few bills, and settled in the living room with the baby monitor, listening to the relentless patter of rain.

Lightning flashed, and Dean stopped his play. Mary paused with her pen in her fingers. A clap of thunder and her oldest son, who had never shown any fear of storms before, flinched.

"Dean?" she said, a gentle inquiry, and he turned to look at her a moment.

"It's real loud," said Dean, then began pushing his cars around on the living room rug again.

"Yeah, it is," she said.

As the storm ranted on, Dean began to push the cars closer towards her.

A brilliant flash, very close, and a sharp boom of thunder, woke up Sammy, his wail sounding over the monitor, and that's when Dean abandoned his cars. He stood up fast, his shoulders rigid, eyes wide. Dean frowned, looking for a moment uncannily like John.

"Let's go check on Sammy," Mary said. "C'mon Dean, it's okay, it's just a storm." She held out her hand, he took it, and together they went upstairs.

When they got to the nursery, Dean ran in ahead of her and grabbed the bars of the crib. He pulled himself up so he could pat Sammy on the back. "It's okay," he said, while Sammy cried. "It's just a storm."

Mary gathered up her baby boy, whispered soothing words, and tucked his body warm with sleep near her heart. He quieted down, but the storm didn't, so she took her boys downstairs, put Sammy in the bassinette on the couch with them while she and Dean settled in with her worn copy of _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_. But Dean barely seemed to listen. He kept turning his head to look at the shadows. Mary brushed the hair back from his forehead, pointed to the pictures, while he leaned against her side like he was trying to meld back into her body.

At last the storm began to die, rumbling off into the West, and Dean yawned. She put him down for a nap in John's armchair, tucked under a blanket.

When he woke up from his nap, the storm was barely over, a beam of sunlight slicing through the racing clouds and into the living room. Sirens sounded in the distance.

She felt a sense of release, of lightness, a return to normalcy. "Hey, Dean," she said, and he blinked sleepily at her. "Storm's over. Let's go outside."

She managed to get sneakers and a sweater on him before he slipped away from her and ran to the front door.

Mary followed quickly, holding Sammy, feeling as buoyant as her four-year-old. The three of them went out onto the porch to see how the afternoon sun glinted off the damp street, gleamed off the chrome on wet cars. More branches had fallen in the yard from the big old tree, but looking up and down the street, Mary couldn't see any damage worse than a few overturned lawn chairs.

"Quite a show, right?" she said, looking down at Dean, who looked back up at her.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding.

She grinned down at him and Dean grinned back. Sammy laughed and reached towards his brother while Mary turned her face into the sun.

~end


End file.
